


these are not true stories (a grain of truth in every tale)

by lostinthefire



Category: Hänsel und Gretel | Hansel and Gretel (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Child Neglect, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3909355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinthefire/pseuds/lostinthefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They tell the story a lot, say it to anyone who's curious, but it's never what actually happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	these are not true stories (a grain of truth in every tale)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ysse_writes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ysse_writes/gifts).



When they tell the story later, they tell it like this:

They were bored, wanderlust rising in their chests and the woods only a short walk away. They were bored and curious, as most children are, and they wander out of the safety of the town's borders and into the woods.

They play on the path until it begins to bores them too. Everything is boring, nothing is worth their time but the unknown. So when the path ends, they are thrilled, both of them running forth as if nothing could touch them.

They run and play and explore, happy to be off the path and away from the prying eyes of family. They tease each other, daring one another to go faster, higher, further. They laugh and play until the sun goes down and even then, they do not try and find their way home.

They are brave children, fearless even, and they do not shudder at the night. They move through the woods like they belong there, like they have always been children of the wild.

As they move, they get hungry. At first it is a quiet hanger but it grows louder and more demanding the further they go. Hunger starts to drive them more than boredom and while they don't pick berries or find nuts, they consider it.

Until the house.

The house with it's candy coated walls, it's sugared windows. It calls to the hunger and lures them in. 

They start eating.

They eat and eat, devouring what they could before a noise stops them. It's a cry out of something that sounds like anger and pain all at once. They turn from their feasting, expecting to see someone's red faced rage ready to greet them but instead, it's anything but..

It's a smile that waits for them, a smile on a pretty woman's face and they relax, even though they know it's possibly unwise.

"Hello," she says to them. "I see you enjoy my house."

They smile back, nodding their heads. She grins and holds up a decoration made of sugar glass and icing. "It's so pretty," she says. "And so tasty."

The woman laughs and walks inside, pushing her door open and entering the house. "Come on then," she calls over her shoulder. "You two should at least come in and keep me company if you are going to feast on my labor."

They follow, eager and excited. It's new, this strange woman with her long, curly hair and bright eyes. 

They don't see the sharp teeth that lay behind her lips. They don't know she's making a stew just for them.

They do notice the cage however, but they assume it's for a pet, a beast who needs it, not for something more sinister than that.

She offers them food and drink, a sip of wine for each child and bread she baked herself. She smiles as they eat, looking to all the world like the happy hostess.

"Eat up," she says. "Enjoy and know there's more where that came from." 

So they do. They eat until they're bloated, not caring that they were depleting her resources or the night had turned to day and their family would be worried about them. Nothing mattered but the food.

And they fall asleep soon enough, filled with it and licking their lips in anticipation of more when they wake. 

But when the world comes into focus again, she's in a cage and he's being prepared like a pig.

She screams, throwing herself against the bars. The woman, who no longer looked kind and beautiful but twisted and ugly, smiles at her for a brief moment before going back to her work.

But the keys to her cage are close and she's always been a bit of an escape artist by nature. 

She gets free, sneaks around the horrible woman (a witch, they tell anyone who will listen) and frees her brother and they both shove the witch into the fire she had been saving for him.

And then they ran. Ran all the way through the woods and into the next town over.

That's what they say.

That's what they want people to believe.

It's easier than saying their father left them there in the woods to die. It's easier than saying they were already starved by the time they entered the woods, no one bothering to give them food for at least a day and a half before then.

It's more fun to pretend the woman was an evil witch rather than just an old lady who took them in and fed them and treated them far better than their father ever had.

It's not as painful to say they left her burning because she was going to eat them, rather than admit she had simply died of old age a few weeks after they found her, leaving the children alone again.

They twist the story between their fingers, manipulating it to be what makes it easier, what makes it ache less in their hearts. 

They know that one day they'll tell the true story, whisper the secrets of the woods into the ears of someone, maybe their own children, or maybe someone who's willing to listen.

One day.

But that one day is not going to be any time soon and they are going to live peacefully in the lies, in the safety of being able to be children who tell stories, rather than adults who tell the truth. They'll pretend they had an adventure they'll never forget and that it was good.

They'll tell the story over and over again, sometimes adding variation, sometimes not. They'll do whatever they have to if it means they'll be allowed to forget the pain of hunger, the ache of neglect and then the swelling of their hearts as someone actually took them in and took care of them.

They'll do anything if it means they can let the mourning pass, the missing and aching and longing for that sweet old woman who had kept them and fed them and told them they were good.

It's easier to tell stories, it's easier to pretend. One day it's going to come out, they know that, one can't hide from the past forever. Until then they will tell their stories and their lies and let the whole world believe them.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me elsewhere:  
> [My DW](http://rootsofthestories.dreamwidth.org) (which I use regularly)  
> [My Tumblr](http://analtarofstars.tumblr.com/) (which I am very rarely on)  
> [My Twitter](http://twitter.com/harvestgraces) (which I am on at random)


End file.
